


The Sex Number

by ayyyy (RosaAquafire)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), M/M, Oral Sex, lmfao there's a tag for that, look this is a fic about karkat and dave doing a 69, nook-as-sheath-for-bulge troll junk, please read it, thank you, that's the fic, this is exactly what it looks like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaAquafire/pseuds/ayyyy
Summary: CG: IS OR IS THERE NOT ANY SOCIETAL OR CULTURAL SIGNIFICANCE TO THE NUMBER 69?TT: Ah, yes.TT: The sex number.TT: This is where I slowly wink.CG: OH, CHRIST.





	The Sex Number

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 6/9, I'm garbage.

This is how the whole stupid thing gets started:

Karkat is lying on the bed. His mass of steel wool hair is fanned out on the pillow. He’s looking up at the ceiling. Blessedly, he’s making a hypnotic, wonderful, fucking _amazing_ chirring noise deep in his chest that suggests a state of peaceful content.

For his part, Dave is lying lengthwise, legs half-dangling off the side of the mattress and head pillowed against Karkat. His ear is pressed up to Karkat’s chest and his fingers are idly stroking the extra-soft fabric of his oversized sweater. Karkat’s purring, as Dave thinks of it, echoes through his thorax and reverberates against Dave’s ear, and it’s fucking hypnotic. Slowly, sleepily, Dave traces his fingers along the grey threads picked out on Karkat’s shirt.

Then he starts quietly laughing. “Laugh my fucking ass off,” he mutters.

The purring stops.

Karkat can only ignore him for about five seconds before shifting and growling. “What?” he demands.

“Sixty-nine,” Dave replies.

There’s a few seconds of silence while Karkat chews on that, and Dave idly glances to watch him do it, his expression growing stormier by the second. “I don’t get it,” he eventually declares, each word picked out and hurled like an accusation.

“Oh, man,” Dave says, settling back down against him with a yawn. “Dude, you’re missing out, it’s bonkers hilarious.”

They subside back into silence, and after about five minutes of quiet grumbling, Karkat once again begins to purr. Dave grins and closes his eyes.

*

Of course, it doesn’t end there.

A few days later, Karkat is grabbing his shirt to pull it back on after a particularly rad round of xenological sex stuff, and he pauses, holding it in midair, staring at the front.

Dave has mostly forgotten about the sixty-nine moment at this point, so when he pulls his pants on and Karkat is thunder-scowling at his own clothes, he’s pretty sure it’s just Karkat being Karkat.

“Aw, man,” Dave drawls, flopping back down onto the bed, not bothering to retrieve his shirt. “Did your sweater piss you off again, dude, cause I swear I had a talk with it, and --”

Karkat balls it up and hurls it at him. Dave doesn’t bother trying to catch it, but makes an exaggerated _oof_ sound when it hits him in the face.

“It’s not a sixty-nine!” Karkat snaps, and Dave has a moment of utter confusion before he remembers their half-asleep conversation from earlier that week and starts laughing.

“Dude, what, _why_ do you even _remember_ that shit? Damn, I was, like, at least eighty-three percent totally asleep at that point.”

“Shut your fucking word warbler and let me talk! It’s not a sixty-nine, it’s my _symbol_ , and it’s a core part of troll culture! Identifying with designated ancestors who shared common traits and goals and, most importantly, blood types to us, as communicated to us through our lusii, is an important part of our society!”

“Oh my god,” Dave moans, pulling the sweater off his face to give Karkat a pleading look. “Karkat. Karkat, please, come over here and I will do literally anything to your hot alien body you want if you just stop talking about your terrible troll planet.”

Past inhabitant of the relevant troll planet puffs up bigtime, and Dave sits up, ready to dive at him and end it with as much make-out related gusto as he can. Then Karkat just kind of deflates, all at once, and that takes a bit of the fun out of the whole thing.

“I know it was terrible,” Karkat says. He climbs onto the bed and picks up the shirt. “But I didn’t have an Ancestor to choose from, because, as I _later_ found out, that shit was definitely scrubbed right the fuck out of the schoolfeed. So my lusus drew this in the dirt and I thought it was just my own thing. It wasn’t, after all, but -- still. It’s not a random human language numerical unit! It has meaning, all right?”

“Okay,” Dave agrees. He sits up, holding his hands forward like he’s approaching a stray animal. He doesn’t get it, at all, and he’s come to the conclusion that Alternia was bad, trolls were bad, and their culture can suck eggs, so he’s not really in the mood to _try_ and get it. _But_... he does know the wistful, pained look Karkat gets when he talks about the giant angry crab monster that raised him, so he thinks that, if nothing else, he can give _that_ some respect. “Sorry.”

Apparently, he sounds _real_ contrite and maybe even a little pitying, because Karkat snaps his head up to meet his eyes, looking all teeth-bared and surly. His eyes flash right before he grabs the shirt and pulls it over his head, yanking it over the mesmerizing plates of his bare chest and stomach, his hair popping out the other end like a sprouting Chia Pet.

“I don’t see what’s so side-splittingly bug-winged funny about a random number, anyway,” he grouses.

“Oh,” Dave says, choking down another laugh. Come on, bro, be cool. Let the guy have his fond memory of his beloved crustacean behemoth. “You know. Me being me. Who can fathom my sense of humour? Four hundred twenty is real funny, too.”

 

“I swear, I only comprehend half the fucking words that come out of your mouth,” Karkat sighs, moving in closer. He tucks his head under Dave’s chin. Dave ascends to heaven. Both 69 and 420 are forgotten.

*

Until Karkat confronts him right outside their room a week later, holding his phone before him like a piece of evidence in a murder trial. It’s open to a pester window, or Trollian, or whatever.

“How did I not fucking just _immediately_ know what kind of thing you find funny?” Karkat demands, and Dave squints at the screen.

CG: SO, YOU’RE AN EXPERT ON MATTERS OF EARTH SOCIETY.  
TT: Why, thank you, Karkat.  
CG: OH MY ALMIGHTY SHITBANANAS YOU INSUFFERABLE FEMALE.  
CG: THAT WAS PREAMBLE FOR ME TO ASK YOU A FUCKING QUESTION.  
TT: Oh? Then by all means.  
CG: GOOD CHUTE-YODELING FUCK, TALKING TO EITHER OF YOU IS LIKE PERFORMING A DEATH DEFYING ACT OF COMEDY IN FRONT OF A GRAND HIGHBLOOD.  
CG: IS OR IS THERE NOT ANY SOCIETAL OR CULTURAL SIGNIFICANCE TO THE NUMBER 69?  
TT: Ah, yes.  
TT: The sex number.  
TT: This is where I slowly wink.  
CG: OH, CHRIST.

“Oh, yeah,” Dave says, choking on a mixture of amusement and crushing embarrassment because _(oh god, why does Rose think this came up?)_ “Well, uh, yeah, there we go. The jig is up, you found me out.”

“ _Why_?” Karkat demands, dropping his hands to his sides.

“Uh, because Rose went and spoiled all the --”

“What in the writing nest of fucksnakes does the number sixty-nine have to do with concupiscent activities?”

“Oh my dick, are you really going to make me spell this out?” Dave throws up his hands.

Karkat looks at him expectantly.

“Awesome. You definitely are. Okay. Look. It’s like…” Dave trails off, trying to figure out how to phrase it. How is it that he can just throw out the best shitty lazy dirty talk without any effort, but then when he goes to actually _try_ and…

He fusses with his hands, trying to put them into a position that illustrates the principle, but then he sighs, drops his arms, and gives up. He juts his chin at Karkat’s shirt. “Okay, fam,” he says. “Imagine the circles are heads and the tails are dicks. Blammo. Sixty-fucking-nine.”

Karkat looks down at his own chest for a long moment, brow furrowed up like a rumpled blanket.

And then coughs.

“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah, see? It’s not _funny_ when you make me point it _out_. God, Karkat, you can even drain all the humour out of sixty-nine. True talent.”

“Shut up!” Karkat exclaims, and crosses his arms conspicuously over the beacon of sin blazoned across his chest like the world’s sauciest superhero. “You humans have the most brain-blisteringly _stupid_ words for everything! We have that, too! You want to know what _we_ call it?”

“Nope. Hard pass.”

“Mutual oral stimulation!”

“Oh, good.”

“It’s an especially popular concupiscent maneuver --”

“Human translation: sex position.”

“-- amongst caliginous pairings because you don’t have to look at the smug fucking face of the dumbfuck you’re currently black as pitch at, which, I have to admit, sounds _really_ appealing to me right now!”

“Shit, Karkat,” Dave says, trying to come off casual but actually sounding pretty strangled. “If you wanted to sixty-nine my ass you shoulda just said something.”

Karkat pauses mid tirade. It’s pretty funny, actually, because he’s got his mouth open and his eyes wide and his blunt teeth gleaming and his hands halfway buried into his hair. His sixty-nine sweatshirt is riding up. Dave can see a band of velvety grey skin right above the line of his jeans. Fuckin’ _nice._

He concentrates on that instead of on all the words building up behind his teeth.

“Are you actually suggesting it,” Karkat says finally, so flatly it isn’t even posed as a question. He sounds suspicious, like he thinks Dave’s got a hand outstretched and is gonna snatch it back.

Dave shrugs one shoulder. “Uh,” he says, the built-up words all smashing together like a log jam in an old cartoon. “I mean, I’m not against the idea or anything? I mean, you would know from experience how much I like, you know,” he gestures vaguely, “getting my mouth all up and around your alien wriggly bits, and I _think_ that’s mutual, though I don’t love the thought that you’re into it just so you don’t have to look at me because believe it or not I actually am pretty into looking at you when we’re balls deep in the fuck. Fuck, I didn’t mean balls deep. Though, yeah, obviously, balls deep, I just mean it wasn’t _intentionally_ \--”

“Do you want to mutually orally stimulate me, or not?” Karkat demands.

Dave huffs. “Yeah, well, obviously. Geez.” He lets out a strangled, coughing laugh and shakes his head. “Geez, Karkat, you saucy operator, sauntering around with the symbol of mutual oral stimulation emblazoned right on your chest like a Hester Pryne style red letter and here I am, having to watch it, day after day after --”

“ _Stop_ ,” Karkat commands, and tackles him.

Okay, sweet.

Dave likes the tackling, especially when Karkat follows it right up with a tongue jammed into his mouth, bluntly stubby troll teeth clacking against flat human ones, Dave’s back slamming hard against the door to their room. Good, yes. Awesome. Rad. Dave fumbles for the door handle and then they both tumble inside.

Not thirty seconds later, Karkat is in his lap on the bed, knees on either side of his ass, raining kisses over his face and chin and neck. Dave is breathing hard, hands exploring the _dangerously_ silky troll skin all up Karkat’s back. It’s so soft, it’s like stroking an animal or something.

“Not --” Karkat gasps between kisses, “ _hot._ ”

And Dave realizes he’s saying this shit out loud, just rambling about Karkat’s skin, the texture and feel of it. He cuts himself off, biting down on his own tongue, and lifts Karkat’s sex number emblazoned sweater over his head, tossing it aside.

The problem arises about thirty seconds after _this_ , when Dave’s only wearing his racecar red satin god jammies and Karkat’s got his jeans open and half slung down over his ass, when Karkat breaks off a lung-burning kiss and looks down at him and they realize that they’ve got to, like, orient themselves for this shit and suddenly it feels less super hot and more super, _super_ fucking awkward.

“Uh,” says Karkat.

“Yeah,” says Dave.

A heartbeat shared between them, then,

“Should I just…”

“Maybe you should…”

They start and stop at the same time and Karkat snaps his mouth shut while Dave smiles toothily and pokes him in the not-a-shoulderblade.

“Fuck, nevermind, sixty-nine is cancelled. Wanna just fuck me?”

“ _No_ ,” Karkat says, so vehemently that Dave actually gets a little hurt. The hurt grows as Karkat crawls back off of him and the bed both, standing at the foot of the bed, muttering to himself just low enough that Dave can’t make out any specific words. Then the hurt full on _evaporates_ as Karkat kicks off his jeans, one leg at a time. He immediately follows up this action by seizing the ankles of Dave’s jammy-pants and hauling them down while Dave squirms helpfully and yipes in shock as the air hits his dick, which bounces and hits him in the abdomen.

Naked, Karkat scowls at him.

Dave swallows awkwardly and forces a grin. He wiggles his eyebrows, throws a hand behind his head, and tries to make an alluring sort of face. “Come on, babe, blast this sweet alien ass.”

Karkat full on groans. “It’s a good fucking thing that I know _exactly_ where your off-switch is,” he declares, and then, visibly gathering his nerve with a squaring of his shoulders and a jutting of his chin, he crawls back onto the bed.

Backwards.

Oh, shit.

It’s happening, yo.

This is where Dave starts to get that jolt of nervous uncertainty that sometimes (frequently, if he’s being honest) goes through him _right_ before things get truly and utterly saucy between them.

“Uh, hey,” he says, as Karkat positions himself on his hands and knees over him and then begins to shimmy, disconcertingly crablike, down along his body. “Look I initially honestly brought this up as like, you know, it’s a joke, it’s a meme, haha, sixty-nine, so if you -- like, if you’re not actually _down_ for this shit then we honestly don’t have to --”

“Please stop.”

“And also, that shit you said about not wanting to see my face, or whatever, I hope -- you know, I hope that wasn’t coming from an actual place or anything, or like… you know, if, uh, if it _is_ , you can… maybe talk to me, or, you know, or something, so that… we… uh…”

He trails off as Karkat stops moving. There’s puffs of hot breath on his unfettered dick. When he looks up, he’s gazing right at alien junk.

He starts to salivate.

_Wow, that’s so gay._

“I actually _really_ don’t know what to say to any of that almighty whipping _bullshit_ , which, for the record, I feel you definitely fucking _know_ is a bunch of oozing refuse dribbling right from your idiot _mouth_ , so I’m just going to suck your bulge, now, and extend the gracious invitation for you to do the same.”

Dave laughs. A little breathless, a little shrill. “Geez, I don’t know, Karkat, are you sure you want your dick anywhere near my oozing whatever mouth, because you sound pretty -- ahhh, fuck yes.”

Karkat’s cool, wet mouth wraps around his hot, straining dick, and Dave arches his back, closes his eyes, and hisses something incoherent that might just be a full minute rendition of the word “yes.”

It takes him, honestly, a lot longer than he should to realize that he’s being a goddamn pillow prince and this is supposed to be _mutual_ oral stimulation, aka sixty-nine, aka sex number, thank you very much.

His eyelids flutter open. He’s breathing hard. He licks his lips.

Karkat’s nook is still closed, but there’s a telltale shade of red around the folds, and Dave grins, leaning up and pressing his lips and then his tongue against it. His skin is even softer than anywhere else, especially along the inner edges, and when he presses his tongue firmly against it, he can feel the length and girth of the bulge inside thrashing excitedly, eager to get free.

He takes a second to close his eyes and enjoy the good workover Karkat’s giving him at the other end of this sexy pretzel, presses a kiss against the small, firm, shuddering troll balls hanging just beneath his favourite alien body part -- Karkat gasps, here, and Dave grins -- and then he gets to work.

It seriously bothered him the first couple times, how he was choking on his own boner while Karkat looked totally unaffected down there, but Dave’s learned to see all the early signs of arousal that precede the real guest of honour at their gay-ass hoedowns. Sweet-tasting moisture around the edges of his nook, the feeling of movement inside, and Karkat’s hips shivering. Dave runs his tongue up and down the seam of the nook, presses sloppy kisses from top to bottom, goes feather-light and then _real_ firm with pressure. Sometimes, he needs to take a second to gasp or bite off a curse, because Karkat is really working some miracles down there, but just as often, he feels cool air on his own dick as his hot alien boyfriend needs to take a sec to get his _own_ bearings, which feels almost better than the blow job.

Keyword: almost.

Dave feels Karkat’s nook spasm one second before the fucking _amazing_ sound of him mewling around his cock, and then the wriggling length of excited xeno junk bursts free of its confines and starts squirming wildly across Dave’s face. And god, but there’s something unbelievably sexy about it, being painted with thick red arousal, trying to catch the writhing thing in his mouth, failing, trying again, until he’s covered in Karkat’s juices and finally manages to get a hold on the damn thing. He groans as it squirms and spasms delightedly in his mouth, panting through his nose. The bulge has a mind of its own, and it tries to find something to either grapple with (his tongue, a welcome participant) or thrust into (his throat, _way_ less pumped about the whole thing.) There is, as always, a few seconds of _oh shit I’m going to horf_ wherein Dave is honestly not sure their disparate biology is going to work out. He yelps during this, and then moans as Karkat takes him deep, and then slaps Karkat on the ass.

Karkat growls, Dave slaps him again, and then the bulge stops trying to throat-fuck him and settles into french dick kissing his tongue, instead.

Way better.

Okay.

Dave plays with the thing, teasing its tip and then pulling it in further, letting it wrap around his tongue and then coaxing it off. He does this with half his mind, the other half focusing on Karkat’s mouth, on his head bobbing, his tongue swirling. If Dave can make him moan, it vibrates all through him and feels real, good. If he can get him making that desperate little troll mating chirp, the vibrations get even more intense.

Before long, they’re both whining all over each other’s dicks, and Dave has made it his personal mission not to come first. He’s surprised and delighted to learn that Karkat isn’t playing, because he makes it a lot easier by letting Dave’s cock fall out of his mouth and groaning loudly against his thigh.

“Dave…” he pants, his breath hot and wet. “Shitting righteous f-fuck, you’re getting _too_ good at that! H-how do you even manage to…”

Dave chokes on a hysterical laugh. By being _unsettlingly_ into sucking alien dick, man, how do you think? This sort of fast learning can only be the work of a _dedicated connoisseur._

It’s embarrassing enough that, right about here, he loses his own race with himself. What’s even worse is that the reason he does is because the bulge goes whacky again, pushes itself down his throat, and that combined with Karkat’s weight above him, Karkat’s breath on his dick, and Karkat’s alien pre-cum all over his face…

Yeah.

He hears himself groaning lustily around half a foot or more of enthusiastic bulge a moment before his toes curl and his vision goes white. He shudders, at least once, maybe more, and half a second later, he feels the organ in his mouth and throat thrash wildly and then start positively gushing alien jizz. The bit that isn’t lodged into him sprays onto his face. The rest just goes down his throat, and he’s glad he has the presence of mind to swallow, swallow, swallow, so that he doesn’t die the ignoble death of aspirating on the stuff. He doesn’t want to find out if that’s either Just or Heroic, thanks.

Karkat’s weight falls bodily to one side, pulling the now quiescent bulge with him and freeing up Dave’s mouth for things like, maybe, breathing and talking and shit. He sucks in a big breath, and then another. Licks his lips. Sweet, tangy troll sauce _everywhere_.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yep, that’s… that’s it, all right. That’s a sixty-nine. We nailed it. Totally, on the head… haha, head… damn, good shit. Classic. Bryan Adams would be proud.”

“Shut up,” Karkat groans weakly.

“Okay,” Dave agrees.

*

After a long night, wherein the mathematical properties of the sex number are explored one additional time, along with some other shit, all of which totally owns, Dave lays back in bed, fully fucked and blissed out, as Karkat stumbles out and searches through discarded clothing looking for something to wear to the whatever-trolls-insist-on-calling-the-toilet-room.

“I like your ass,” he murmurs, pleasantly marble-mouthed, as Karkat bends over.

“Then stop being such a leg-scrabbling wiggler and fuck it every once in a billion fucking years,” Karkat shoots back over his shoulder.

Dave laughs.

When Karkat stands, he’s pulling his sweater over his head. Dave takes one look at it and snorts. Karkat looks down at himself, brow furrowed in confusion, and then sighs. Loudly.

“This is going to be the rest of my accursed blighted shitty life, isn’t it?” he demands, throwing hands up in the air. “Every fucking time I put on my own clothes, I’m going to have to contend with Mister Dungshit Carnival Clown over here, _still_ finding inherent comedy where there is none in a number that honestly doesn’t even really evoke the act he’s chortling merrily about!”

“Yeah,” Dave says. “Sorry.”

“Kill me,” Karkat sighs, and stumbles out of the room.

*

Dave manages to avoid all but a few pointed remarks from Rose, which he considers a victory. And he honestly misses looking into Karkat’s eyes after a few more go-arounds on the sixty-nine express, so it doesn’t _really_ enter their main rotation of bang. Despite occasional attempts to be respectful of crab monster related cultural meaning, Dave continues to find the lewdness plastered on his boyfriend’s chest hilarious. Otherwise, it all seems to be well in order, until, half asleep, Karkat murmurs, one night:

“You should teach me how to give you a four-twenty, sometime.”

They say Dave’s howls of laughter are still heard to this day.

**Author's Note:**

> And now, you, too, are garbage.
> 
> Feel free to follow me @ http://purplepurpleunicornsparkle.tumblr.com/ tho after this I'm not sure who'd want to :3


End file.
